


do not go gentle

by scribblingTiresias



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, But This Account Is Tied To My Main So Probably Nothing Worse Than, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack and Angst, Daddy Issues, FTM Gwyndolin, Fade to Black, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, M/M, Possible Light Mature Content, These Two Don't Have Issues They Have Subscriptions, lying, thank you tag wranglers!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-09-23 14:11:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20341429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblingTiresias/pseuds/scribblingTiresias
Summary: In traveling the World Tree, Loki comes across a branch that's dying.  He plans to exploit it and steal its sacred fire for his own.But there's a distractingly beautiful illusionist in his way, and -- as ever-- things don't go according to plan.





	1. woodwalker

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t watched any of the Thor-centric Marvel movies past Avengers (2012), so I’m definitely getting things wrong. I might miss characterization or facts established by later movies.  
Also, I like my alien space gods a bit more magical than canon seems to want them.   
Consider this to be a hell of an AU, even without the whole crossover thing.

The journey through Yggdrasil was always a gamble. But Loki, son of Laufey, was a gambler at heart, and he knew the Way well enough. 

To travel the World Tree without a ship or a bridge, one first had to step away from one’s Self. That was simple. Certain thoughts and memories parted him from the world all too easily. Once his heart began to race and that strange giddy feeling lifted him an inch outside his body, he repeated the Words in his mind again and again. He felt the lift in his stomach, the whirling around him, and then-- 

Yggdrasil spread out before him, tangled like the back of a tapestry. 

As ever, he had to compose himself. Even with his hard-won skill, detaching from his Self was a strain. He closed his eyes, breathed out slow and steady. 

It helped that this place-- they called it the Wood between the Worlds-- was quiet and bare. There was nothing around him but darkness and glimmering stars. As he watched, the half-seen shapes of other Trees flickered around him, bright as the after-image of a sun. These trees were Other, strange to him. Few Asgardians dared travel them, and fewer still returned. 

When his breath and heartbeat slowed, he looked down at the universe spread out at his feet. 

From this place, it looked more like a network of glimmering threads than a tree, with worlds like beads dotted along its strands. The Nine Realms were clear enough, but there were far more than Nine worlds in the tree. Each of the Realms held countless tiny worlds, blue and grey and silver and ashen. 

It was easy to pick out Asgard-- it pulsed with golden power. Even from this distance, Loki could feel it, like bitter heat against his skin. He scoffed and looked away. 

Midgard was a pale blue gem, ringed by wispy clouds. He could always return there, he thought, and reclaim what he’d rightfully conquered. But his brother was still there, and even were he not, it was too soon. He’d have to return with a larger army, someday.

He didn’t even want to look at Jotunheim. Without the Casket of Eternal Winter, it was bleak and grey, not the white pearl it was meant to be. He wasn’t a Jotun-- not in any way that mattered-- but seeing the place that could have been his home in such a state twisted his heart. 

Nidavelir, Niflheim, Svartalfheim-- all passed under his gaze. He found all wanting. There was nothing for him there. Nothing he could take. 

Something caught his eye.

The World-Tree had many branches. The Nine Realms were merely the largest. And a tiny branch, an outgrowth of Muspelheim, was different from every other. 

It was different, because it was dying. 

Realms, in Loki’s experience, almost never died. Even Jotunheim, wounded as it was, still survived. But this realm looked like it’d crumble to ashes if he touched it. 

Like all the realms that grew from Muspelheim, it was governed by a sacred flame. But this flame was dying. It’d be so, so easy to snuff it out-- to draw whatever scraps of power he could from it into himself, and let the realm rot. 

Assuming, of course, that he could find the bloody thing. 

He reached out. His fingertips brushed the bead. It grew and grew, surrounding him, enveloping him in golden clouds and golden light. 

When his feet touched solid ground, he stood in an undiscovered realm.


	2. with threshing oar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki speedruns Anor Londo in search of the strange illusionist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for all the kind comments/bookmarks/kudos! I thought no one in the world would want this crackfic, it's nice to see so many other people enjoying it. 
> 
> I made a playlist for this ship/this fic. You can find it here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0BLpbi0CmOVBTI7RpJRx0q

The city that stretched out before him gleamed golden in the light of a setting sun. Towers and spires like a thousand cathedrals shimmered before him, peppered with domes and buttresses. It was more a delusion of grandeur than a city. Just looking at it felt like a punch in the gut-- it was far too close to home. 

But the streets were barren. The seconds slid past. Wind gently brushed his face, and his heart beat slow and even. And still, nothing moved, not even the clouds in the sky. 

Loki took a step forward and slowly clapped. 

“Bra-vo,” he said.

His voice echoed through the empty city. He slowly sauntered forward, getting his bearings- he was standing on a bridge high above the city’s streets. The only way forward was in front of him, a building that dwarfed him. 

“This is the best illusion I’ve ever seen,” he said. “But you can drop the act.” 

There was no reply, but Loki didn’t expect one. His curiosity piqued, he started forward, into the huge building. 

Some part of him had expected to see the sacred flame in a shrine here, free for the taking. But of course, there was nothing of the sort. Just a suit of silver armour bearing a longsword and a massive shield. 

At first, Loki thought the armour was empty. But then its head turned like an aptrgangr’s, lolling lifelessly. 

Odin had trained his sons in the arts of war. Loki could theoretically, if he wished to, dispatch this Silver Knight in any of a hundred ways, each more grisly than the last. 

Theoretically. But the closer that thing shambled towards him, the further away Loki wanted to be. He edged away from it, holding his staff out to shield himself.

Its sword plunged down. Loki ran. 

The next few hours were a blur. 

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop. Another dead-but-not-dead knight aimed an arrow the length of his staff at him; Loki dropped to the ground and transformed into a silver boa constrictor, slithering along the length of the buttress. Arrow after arrow flew over his head; he coiled around the buttress and climbed it like a serpent climbs a tree. Pride stabbed into him as his fangs stabbed the knight’s ankle, and it tumbled to the ground below. 

Loki climbed through the window and changed shape again, taking the form of a wolf. His claws screeched against the ornate tile floors. Knight after knight, and strange-robed guardian after strange-robed guardian, scurried away. 

His final obstacle was laughably simple- two knights in tarnished armour, guarding a great door. If it had been him against the two of them, he’d never have had a chance. But one of the two guardians was an illusion, easily dispelled with a click of his fingers. 

The other was a hulk of a man, in all-too-detailed armour that made Loki’s skin crawl. Loki transformed into a macaque and crawled up the man’s back. The giant tried to shake him off, but Loki found the crevice between his helmet and his neck and dug in his claws.

Nerves and tendons severed. The man collapsed like a beached whale, leaving behind only a glowing silver soul. 

Loki picked the soul up and cradled it in his hands. It crackled with magic, like a tiny Tesseract. Somehow he knew it was sovereignless; it begged to be ruled.

He closed a fist around it. It melted into him. He could feel it clinging to something deep inside him, giving him more strength. 

The massive doors loomed over him. He stood up straighter.

It was time. If the illusionist was to be found, he’d find them through those doors.


	3. a foreigner's god

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finds what he's been looking for.... or perhaps it finds him.

“Thou hast journey’d far, and overcome much, chosen Undead.” 

Loki blinked, shading his eyes. A massive woman dressed in white rested above him, lying on a couch raised on a pedestal. One lock of her flame-red hair was the length of his entire body. She was lit by the fading sun that shone through tall windows behind her. 

“Undead?” he asked. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m a long way from Hel.” 

“Come closer, child.” 

Loki bristled, but did as he was told. She was even more massive up close. He could practically hear the sound of a heavenly choir surrounding her, wordlessly singing her praises.

“I am Gwynevere,” she said. “Daughter of Lord Gwyn; and Queen of Sunlight. Since the day Father his form did obscureth, I have await’d thee.” 

“I am Loki of Asgard--” Loki began. 

She cut him off. Her voice was soft and gentle, but it carried an air of command - like she expected to be obeyed.

“I bequeath unto you the Lordvessel,” she said.

Loki felt something settle in his pocket. It fit perfectly, but felt much heavier- the weight of a world compressed into a walnut. 

“Thank you.” 

She ignored him once again. 

“And I beseech thee. Succeed Lord Gwyn, and inherit the Fire of our world.” 

Well, wasn’t that convenient. Loki smirked. If they were going to hand him the Sacred Fire, he’d gladly take it. 

“It’s an honour, Lady G-”

“Thou shalt end this eternal twilight, and avert further Undead sacrifices,” she continued. 

“Perhaps you’ve made a mistake,” Loki said. 

Gwynevere stared at him. She didn’t say a word. Her eyes were blank, like the eyes of a doll. She barely breathed. 

Loki climbed the steps of the pedestal. He stepped to one side; she didn’t turn to meet his gaze. He tilted his head; she didn’t look at him. 

He reached out and touched her upper arm. She screamed as if he’d murdered her, and her body collapsed into white light. A thousand motes of dust shimmered in the twilight sun, and then disappeared. 

Another illusion. Just as he’d thought. Loki stared up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Thou that tarnisheth the Godmother’s image--” 

The voice that came from the ceiling was just as quiet and just as commanding as Gwynevere’s. But it was deeper-- more masculine-- and it echoed through the room, bouncing off every corner.

“I am Gwyndolin. And thy transgression shall not go unpunished.” 

The sun went out. The room darkened, and every shadow seemed to crawl with half-seen horrors. Loki’s gaze flicked from side to side.

“Wait,” he said. “I believe we can help each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the dialogue in this chapter is almost entirely taken from the game-- which is the only reason I was able to finish it so fast. I've had kind of a goofy work schedule lately and am gonna have trouble updating for a while. @_@ 
> 
> Also, THANK YOU FOR FINALLY COMING OUT OF YOUR ROOM, GWYNDOLIN, PLEASE WORK WITH ME.


	4. let me please introduce myself...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki tries to talk himself out of a sticky situation.

“I am a wanderer,” Loki said. His heart lept to the back of his throat. “I travel the Realms in search of new magics, rare and wondrous things--” 

The best lies were barely lies at all. If one turned the truth til it showed only its fairest face, most would gladly accept it as the whole truth. Men, gods, giants-- in this respect, they were all the same. 

“And if I may be bold-- you are the rarest and most wondrous illusionist the Realms have ever seen.” 

The voice from the heavens stayed silent. That was better than threats, at least, though how much better remained to be seen.

“I would be honoured to learn from you,” Loki said, “and to share, in exchange, what little knowledge I possess.” 

“Dost thou think thou can teach a god?” 

The boyish voice was weary, weary with the weight of ages. Loki grinned. 

“I am a god myself,” he said. “I am a worldwalker, an illusionist, a shapeshifter--”

“What.” 

It wasn’t a question; it was a sharp breath. Loki’s grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. He had his hook. Now to add the bait. 

“A shapeshifter.” 

He casually reached up. His back stretched; his spine lengthened, and his ribs cracked and crunched as they stretched to fit his wider torso. Fur sprouted over his forearms as his hands changed into hooves. His face lengthened to a muzzle and his ears lengthened to a leaf-shape. 

Four legs grew out from between his ribs; his spine bent forward, and he landed on all eight hooves. 

The shape of an eight-legged horse wasn’t a simple one to take, but Loki had done it before, and he knew he made it look easy. He tilted his head towards the ceiling, flicking his ears, and then reared up on his hindmost legs-- returning to his human form.

“You see?” he said. “No illusions. No trickery. Simply a change of shape.” 

“How--” the voice from the sky said, then sharply cut itself off. There was a note of panic in that voice, a note of fear-- but a note of hope. 

Loki licked his lips, and waited. 

“... I would learn what thou hast to teach,” the voice from the sky finally said. “Leave this temple, and I will speak to thee.” 

“Of course.” Loki inclined his head in a shallow bow, and turned around. 

The voice from the sky made no reply, but golden light filled the high-windowed chamber. The illusory sun had risen once more. 

Loki swaggered out of the temple, his long shadow trailing behind him. His smirk split his face in two. 

Not only had he gotten himself out of trouble, he’d found himself a way to the sacred fire. The godling had fallen for it-- hook, line, and sinker. 

He was so wrapped up in his smug thoughts that he didn’t notice the bony demons dropping from the sky and reaching out for him.


End file.
